


Not Exactly Pillow Talk

by bendingwind



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingwind/pseuds/bendingwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still hasn't quite forgiven her for asking the TARDIS to change his mattress out for a softer one, and she's quite sure he's pouting as he fiddles with the wiring leading to the sink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the spoiler_song ficathon.

He still hasn't quite forgiven her for asking the TARDIS to change his mattress out for a softer one, and she's quite sure he's pouting as he fiddles with the wiring leading to the sink. For some reason it's ejecting a harsh spray of neon pink slime rather than a steady stream of water. She shifts farther back into the soft pile of white pillows and pulls the blanket closer. A tiny smirk works its way onto her face as she watches him work.

He's only wearing a towel.

She lets her eyes trace down his back, reveling in the sight of exquisite flesh. It's a shame, really, what he covers up with that awful tweed suit. She wonders when (in his timeline) she buys him a new one. She's seen him wearing it before. She continues to admire him, the delicacy of his shoulder blades, the glimpses of his ribs moving beneath his skin. The way the towel is riding low on his hips, which are perhaps a bit wide for a man, but as far as she's concerned are perfect. Her gaze lingers there for a while, taking in the twin dips at the base of his spine.

_Beautiful._

Sparks fly and he curses briefly, leaping back from the wall. The towel falls, and River, rather than scolding him for playing with something dangerous, finds herself admiring the way the muscles move under the porcelain skin of his thigh. Her gaze travels up his body, lingering here and there and settling, briefly, on the sharp contours of his collarbone before she looks up to meet his eyes. He's somewhere between sulky and angry, which makes her smile.

"Why are you smiling? You've been ogling me. Stop ogling me, this is very important and it is not a time to ogle!" His glare is not quite as ferocious as she thinks he intends it to be, and only succeeds in making her smile wider.

"Come here," she says, patting the bed beside her. He shakes his head, still sulky. Really, he can be such a _child_ sometimes.

"You know," she drawls, when he doesn't move, "the best sex I ever had was in the TARDIS. There's this book, in the library, that psychically projects ideal sex positions and guides your hands to the right erogenous zones…"

He looks considerably more interested in this information. "It was good, then?" he asks, and there's that hint of arrogance that she's so familiar with.

"Who said it was with _you?"_

He harrumphs and sits, hard, in front of the wiring poking out of the wall. She laughs lightly and leans back into the pillows, wondering if he's likely to start a fire or if she can risk sleeping.


End file.
